


Tempt Not the Deep

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Identity Porn, M/M, Prostitution, Sibling Incest, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, conflicted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki invites Thor to accompany him on an adventure; Thor is surprised when the 'adventure' turns out to be a visit to a live sex show at The Hidden Pearl brothel on Vanaheim. He is even more surprised when the show turns out to be an illusion of him and Loki having sex. It should have been a horribly traumatic experience, to be forgotten as soon as possible, but Thor cannot forget the sight of Loki moaning in pleasure, of how he looked as he came, of how beautiful he was screaming Thor's name. Now he can't look at his brother without thinking terrible things, wicked things that Loki absolutely cannot find out. Luckily, Loki is more than willing to keep taking Thor to The Hidden Pearl. All he needs to do is get it out of his system by having sex with an illusion of Loki. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Upon the Deep Sea

_Tempt not the deep, lest unawares,  
In losing me, you yourselves might be lost._

_Well may you launch your vessel  
Upon the deep sea_

-          _Dante, Paradiso_

Thor emerges, blinking, from the roar of the Bifrost. The bridge has dropped them on a wide shore; in front of them bob dozens of elegantly carved white boats, waiting to ferry them to Nóatún, Vanaheim’s chief city and seat of Njord, the lord of the ocean and seneschal of Vanaheim. The white city rises out of the sea like a great coral, her thousand tiny lights reflected in the lapping waves. It is an impressive sight but a familiar one. This was not when he expected when Loki asked him to accompany him, suggesting that as they had not spent much time together, just the two of them, in what seemed an age, perhaps Thor might join him on an excursion.

When they were younger, they had often gone exploring together, seeking out adventures and swearing each other to secrecy when they inevitably got into trouble. Thor cannot pinpoint when that changed, when Loki began to fade into the background, by turns silent and scathing, and he had realised, somewhat guiltily, that although Loki had been asked along to all the hunts and sparring practices and quests Thor had undertaken in the past few years, it had always been as an addition to Sif and the Warrior Three, never just the two of the them. It has been on his mind of late that his relationship with his brother feels strained, and he wishes for the easy intimacy they used to share, and so he readily agreed to this adventure, and kept his peace when Loki would tell him nothing about his plan, going so far as to follow him blindly into the Bifrost without question.

He had hoped for something more interesting than Nóatún though, and turns to ask Loki what new sport could be found here, their old stomping ground, but his brother has already commandeered one of the smaller boats intended for visitors to the city. Thor follows him into the boat, but Loki will not speak to him, apparently too engrossed in the simple act of laying hands on the craft’s rudder. Unnecessary, thinks Thor, for these guest-ships track a predetermined path to and from the sea-city, but even as he thinks it Loki’s hands spark with green fire and with a strange whining creak the ship swings away from the city and begins to track along the dark coast. An adventure, then, just as promised.

They glide along in silence, Thor unwilling to disrupt his brother’s concentration. He understands little of Loki’s _seidr_ , but has been schooled by Loki’s sharp tongue into learning not to interrupt Loki when he is actively spell-working. He amuses himself by inventing constellations for Vanaheim’s strange stars; no doubt they are serving as a map for his scholarly brother, but to him they are just different points of light. Soon they disappear as Loki steers the small boat into the mouth of a sea-cave. They continue on a little ways before reaching a jetty, already crowded with similar boats.

They disembark and Thor is burning with questions. “Loki -”

“Not here, brother. Or have you forgotten your part already?”

He had, in truth. “What am I to call you then?”

“Hveðrungr.” The name rolls easily from Loki’s tongue. Too easily, Thor thinks, for a name he has never heard before. What has Loki being doing, that he is so practised at giving false names? “And you are Felli Fjörnets.”

Thor stares at Loki, looking for the smile that must be there. “I think not, brother,” he manages after a moment. “I think I shall be Einarr tonight. A simple name, a common name. Unremarkable. Easy to forget. Yes?”

“If you insist,” sighs Loki. “Now, stand still while I work the glamour.” Thor obeys and Loki lifts his hands to Thor’s face, frowning in concentration. A peculiar tingle washes over Thor and he shudders, feeling as if he has been suddenly dunked in freezing water.

“There,” Loki says, sounding smug. He raises his hands to his own face, which shimmers and suddenly is not his face at all. Thor gapes at his brother, who is now a fair and freckled blonde with a mop of curly hair. His eyes, his nose, his mouth – all are different, and he somehow seems shorter and stockier, looking more a farmhand or a merchant’s son than an Asgardian prince.

“Am I so changed?” Thor asks, running his fingers over his face. He feels no different, and his voice still sounds the same, but when he pulls his hair forward so he can squint at it, he can just about see it is a nondescript brown.

“Yes,” Loki says, obviously proud, and his voice too is the same. “I cannot change your shape or size, but I have given you a broken nose and some interesting scars, to suggest you are a raider, or a particularly stupid guard.”

Thor prods at his nose experimentally. It still seems straight. Loki rolls his eyes.

“It is only a glamour, Thor. It tricks the eye, but will not fool the other senses. In truth, it would not stand up to a determined _seidr_ user, nor to anyone who knew you well, but it will serve well enough for tonight.”

“What is so special about this place that we must hide our faces and our names?” Thor asks, looking about him. So far, it is only a cave: dark, dank and unremarkable.

“You will see,” Loki says, clearly enjoying himself. “Now come on; I did not work so hard to slip from Heimdall’s gaze to stand about in a cave talking to you.”

Loki leads the way, witch-fire lighting the well-worn path through the darkness. It takes Thor only a little while to realise that it is not a cave but a tunnel, as the sound of water and music becomes louder and louder. At last the tunnel gives way to open air and a remarkable sight: an enclosed pool, with sheer cliffs rising all around them. In the centre of the open water is a suspended building, an eccentric collection of wings and stories clinging to a broad wooden base that spans the entire opening.

It is indeed striking to look at, but Loki has no desire to admire it, instead striding along the thin wooden bridge leading to what is clearly the main entrance. Light spills from the open doors and Thor can just make out the sign overhead: The Hidden Pearl.

“A brothel?” he asks, surprised. It has been years since he and Loki went to a brothel together, not since they were young and inexperienced, preferring the surety of a professional to fumbling with a chambermaid. In fact, when he thinks on it, it has been a long time since he went at all; he finds he prefers the chase of a willing partner, and he feels somewhat vaguely that a crown prince should not be seen consorting with courtesans. He had not heard that Loki still went, but then, neither had he heard any tales of his brother’s conquests in Asgard.

“More than just that,” Loki replies unhelpfully and ushers him in. Thor looks around, but no madam or messiure comes to greet them – unusual, he thinks, but Loki seems to know what to do. He leads Thor to the largest door ahead of them and knocks: it opens and now an elegantly dressed woman appears. She and Loki exchange the customary pleasantries, which culminates in her asking “Two for the show?” Loki nods, passing her two gold coins and she smiles and beckons them through. Well, this is certainly not a cheap place, Thor muses, but neither is it the first brothel to offer live entertainment.

They are shown into a hall, with a large central stage. There is a small crowd surrounding the foot of the stage, but Thor and Loki are shown to one of the recessed seating areas slightly higher up. The couch has high sides and backs, and once settled in the pair become near invisible – as do the others no doubt occupying the neighbouring seats. A serving girl, dressed surprisingly conservatively, brings them two mugs of mead. She smiles, but makes no attempt to talk to them. Very strange for a brothel, Thor thinks, and tries to ask Loki what the point of all this is, but Loki shushes him irritably.

Thor gives in and sits back, sipping at his mead. It is of good quality, but other than confirming this is a higher class of place than most, Thor still does not understand quite why he has been brought here, and not to any number of equally luxurious and more accessible pleasure houses.

Just as Thor’s patience is about to snap the stage lamps are lit. The hall is full, but the crowd is silent, without any of the whooping and catcalling Thor had expected. Two figures walk on stage without preamble: two tall men, one dark-haired and one blonde. The blonde is broad and heavily muscled; an Asgardian, but his dark skin suggests he is of Vanir descent. The other is slimmer, very thin and wiry, and as he turns Thor can see his pointed ears emerging from his long hair. A Ljosalfr then, or at least the son of one; the Light Elves are a small people compared to Asgardians, but this man is of a height with the other, surely six foot. They are both completely naked and as they slowly turn, showing themselves off, he sees that both have the same tattoo, a swirling Vanir pattern running from the nape of their necks to the crease of their buttocks. A house brand, no doubt.

They are pleasing enough to look at, and will no doubt make a fine pair to watch, but Thor is no stranger to male courtesans, and in the sprawling pleasure quarter of Nóatún he and Loki have sampled men and women of all the friendly races in the nine realms, and watched more besides. What is so special about these?

The men bow and as they rise Thor feels more than sees Loki tensing, leaning forward from the couch. The room seems to hold its breath and Thor wonders what he is missing.

The men rise and their faces and bodies seem to shimmer and then –

It is Thor and Loki standing on the stage.

Thor cannot breathe, cannot move. He does not understand. The men have become a likeness of himself and his brother, and they turn and walk around the stage slowly, allowing their audience to appreciate the skill of the illusion. For it is obviously an illusion, a glamour, like the one Loki had cast on them, and now Thor sees why he did so, why it would have impossible for the princes of Asgard to come here as themselves. But why – why would men and women pay to come and watch he and Loki walk about naked?

He has his answer soon enough.

The men return to the centre of the stage and face each other. Music starts to play, a simple tune picked out on a harp hidden somewhere in the room, and as it does, the false-Thor lifts his hand and strokes the false-Loki’s hair before pulling him in for a deep, wet kiss. The false-Loki goes willingly, his hands roaming over the false-Thor’s body, sliding along his arms, clutching at his hips. The false-Thor moans loudly into the kiss as the false-Loki’s long fingers dip between the cheeks of his ass, skim over his rapidly growing cock.

Thor is going to _kill them all_. His hand flexes instinctively for Mjolnir, but of course she remains in Asgard, as he has learnt all too well not to bring his most prized possession along when carousing with Loki. No matter, he can still meet out roaring vengeance with his fists and he bolts upright, fully intending to thunder down to the stage and start beating the performers until they drop that cursed glamour. But before he can start shouting Loki has grabbed him by the hand.

“Sit _down,_ brother,” Loki snarls, nails digging into Thor’s skin. “You will only draw attention to yourself, and we _do not want that_.”

Thor opens his mouth to argue, to scream and rage, but Loki moves too quickly, kicking Thor’s feet out from under him and yanking him back to the couch.

“If you get into a fight, the glamour _will not hold_. Are you listening?” Loki hisses. “We will be exposed and how long do you think it will take for word to reach all the realms that the Odinsons caused a riot in a brothel whose speciality was a show where _we fuck each other_?”

It is a good point, an excellent point, and Thor has just enough sense left to hear it. He settles, seething, and Loki waves away the serving girl hovering anxiously just outside their seat. Then he realises what Loki has just said.

“You knew?” Loki glares at him and he struggles to lower his voice. “That’s why we’re here – to see _this_?” He throws out his free hand in the direction of the stage, where the false-Loki is now enthusiastically sucking the false-Thor’s cock, whose hands are tangled in Loki’s dark hair, keeping him in place as he thrusts into Loki’s mouth – no, no, into the _not-Loki_ ’s mouth.

“I had heard that The Hidden Pearl offered a unique show, where one’s fantasies could be enacted with impressively accurate glamours,” Loki admits, still hanging onto Thor’s hand. “I had heard that the performance featured famous warriors and renowned beauties, that there were remarkable illusions of Idunn, and Freyja, even Heimdall -”

“ _Heimdall_?” Thor chokes, oh, he will never be able to meet the gatekeeper’s eyes again.

“- yes, Heimdall, and many others, and I thought that perhaps you or I might feature briefly, but I did not know that – I did not think - it would be quite like this. You must believe me.”

Loki’s eyes are wide with truth and Thor subsides. Of course Loki would not have thought that this would happen. Who could imagine such a thing would occur between them? But still, they cannot possible stay and watch this, this wickedness.

A loud cry interrupts his thoughts and he cannot held but look back at the stage. The false-Loki is on his knees, head hanging between his arms, moaning deliriously as the false-Thor fucks into him. Thor does not want to look, does not want to see, but cannot help focusing on the look of ecstasy on Loki’s face, at the way he shudders and cries as he is taken. The false-Thor suddenly pulls out and flips Loki over, dropping to his knees before grabbing Loki by the legs and hauling him onto his lap. He drives back into Loki, who is whimpering and gasping, his head thrown back, pale throat gleaming as he pants and cries out. Loki reaches down to grasp his own cock and pumps frantically, his low moans a counterpoint to the obscenely wet noise of their bodies meeting and the deep grunts of the not-Thor. Loki arches and a scream rips out of his throat as he comes all over himself. The not-Thor pulls out almost before Loki is finished and with a few rough tugs is coming too, covering Loki’s chest with more come. Thor stares at his brother, covered in come, utterly fucked out, smiling blissfully, looking absolutely debauched and beautiful and _– it is not his brother, his brother is sitting next to him, still clinging to his damned hand_.

Thor snatches his hand away. He cannot be here, he cannot think about this. He cannot have seen such things or thought – thought nothing, he thinks savagely, except how much he – they – need to leave.

“Well, that is that,” Loki murmurs beside him. Thor cannot look at him.

On the stage, at last, the performers have shed their glamour. They stand and bow, the dark-haired elf still dripping with come, and the audience cheers and shouts, a wall of noise that reverberates around the room. As they exit, two women take their place, a lithe Svartalfar and a tall, imposing woman. They do not bother to tease the crowd, instead flickering almost immediately into Brunnhilde the Valkyrie and Karnilla, Queen of the Norns, the Brunnhilde-imposter pushing the Karnilla-imposter to her knees before her. That should be a powerful incentive to stay and watch, but Thor’s skin is prickling and he can taste ozone in the air: his self-control is wearing dangerously thin and he can feel the lightning building even without Mjolnir in his hand.

Loki seems to sense the danger, for he quickly gets to his feet and leads Thor out, smiling and exchanging some sort of pleasantries with the surprised looking madam as they leave. They get as far as the tunnel before Thor’s temper breaks and he slams his fist into the wall just to release some of his tension – his anger, he reminds himself, his perfectly justified rage. He feels a peculiar shudder all over and glares at Loki, outraged his brother would cast a spell on him, only to realise it was the breaking of their own glamour spell he felt.

“Peace, brother,” Loki pleads, trying to hustle him back to the boat. “It is over. It was not real.”

“How dare they,” Thor roars, heedless of who might hear. “It is an insult to us, to our father, to Asgard herself -”

“It is only entertainment,” Loki counsels, pushing him along. “It does no harm to Asgard, and until tonight you knew nothing of it, so it has done you no harm either.”

“It is disgusting! Who could think such things of us? Who would want to watch such perversions?” Thor will not think on exactly what those things were, will not remember the pleasure on his brother’s face.

“Most of that room, apparently,” Loki mutters, and sighs when Thor turns on him. “Why does it matter? It is only a fantasy, Thor. And you forget, that on Vanaheim siblings often loved and married each other, before the war with Asgard. Njord’s first wife was his own sister, and it is well known that the twins Freyr and Freyja were lovers in their youth – and some say they are lovers still.”

This is true enough, but he and Loki are not of Vanaheim, and sibling marriage has been outlawed since before they were born. “Why are you not upset by this?” Thor demands, trying to cling to his anger in the face of Loki’s unruffled calm. Anger is a good emotion – surely the right emotion for him to be feeling – and he does not want to consider what else he might be feeling.

“Oh, I have heard such stories of us before. It is more common than you would think, for people to invent salacious tales involving those they find attractive.”

“There – there are rumours of us doing such things?” Thor asks, horrified at the thought of his friends, their parents, hearing such tales. Loki laughs.

“Not rumours, Thor. Fantasies. Imaginings. That is what the Pearl is selling – an image of what can never be. I understand your shock, dear brother, and of course I share it. To see – us, like that – I - I had not thought -” Loki breaks off, turning away, his face twisted with emotion. Thor relaxes, feels the anger ebb away, somehow satisfied in knowing that Loki too is affected by what they have seen.

“But such a fantasy has little bearing on reality,” Loki continues, turning his gaze back to Thor, “and I am well acquainted with the difference between the two.”

“So why did you bring us here?” Thor pleads, for he still does not understand. “Why would you want to see an illusion of those we know doing – doing those things?”

“The courtesans here are capable of more than just illusions, Thor. It is said that their glamours are so strong that when you chose one, it will feel as if you are truly touching the person they appear to be,” Loki explains. “Do you not see the appeal? It is not only the well-known they can take the appearance of, but anyone you want, provided you have a likeness. Is there no-one you wish you could have who is completely beyond your reach? What would you pay for just one night with someone you long for but cannot touch?”

Thor shakes his head in denial. Surely it is a falsehood, an insult to the one impersonated, no matter what the motivation.

“Ah, well, perhaps for the Mighty Thor there is no-one who would not be grateful for his attention. Sadly, this is not true for the rest of us.”

Has Loki been harbouring a secret love? Has his aloof, disdainful brother being desperately pining for some unknown maiden? He has been a neglectful older brother indeed, to not notice this, and he has now quite ruined Loki’s opportunity to use the Pearl’s courtesans for relief. “I cannot think that anyone would refuse you,” Thor blurts out, suddenly ashamed.

“Ah, but what if I have not asked?” Loki smiles, all teeth and little humour. “But no, that is not why I wanted to come here. The skill in the glamour – to convince not just the eye, but the hand – you might not see it, Thor, but these courtesans are some of the most powerful spell-weavers to be found in the nine realms. Their art is a speciality, yes, but there is real talent here, and I intend to learn from it.”

“You cannot be thinking of -”

“Whoring myself in a Vanaheim brothel? No, big brother. I have no intention of selling myself to the commoners, if that is what concerns you,” Loki smirks. "But I shall return, continue to study, and I intend to do so at very close quarters.”

“What use could such a trick have?” Thor asks, ignoring Loki’s mischievous tone.

“Such a ‘trick’?” Loki repeats, his voice suddenly sour. “Why, to make mischief, of course. What else are ‘tricks’ for?”

Thor winces. He has made this mistake before, but never seems to learn from it. “At any rate,” he says hastily, clasping Loki’s shoulders and pulling them closer together. “Thank you inviting me along, brother. It may have been…interesting, but I have truly enjoyed your company.” It is as much of an apology as he ever manages, and like always, Loki settles under his touch, his scowl turning to exasperation.

“And I suppose I can say the same,” Loki pronounces after a moment. “Since my choice was not entirely to your taste, shall we try Nóatún instead?”

“Yes!” Thor exclaims excitedly, hoping to extinguish the lingering anger and the awkwardness, and to enjoy a night with his brother as he had wanted. “Let us run wild in the pleasure quarter, as we did when we were young and foolish.”

“We are hardly old men now,” Loki sniffs, “and one of us has certainly gained no wisdom,” but he does not pull away when Thor takes him by the hand and drags him back through the tunnel and into the boat.

The rest of the night is lost in a haze of soft limbs and giggling, rich honey mead and sweet wine. Thor looks up once to see Loki’s gaze fixed on him; he smiles, broadly, overwhelmingly pleased to be sharing this with his brother, as if the two of them were the closest of friends, the way they had been before. But before he can focus on Loki’s expression the girl beneath him cries out and another is at his elbow, laughing and tugging, and he turns away, losing himself in his own pleasure, refusing to think on anything past the woman in his arms. It is a good night and an excellent morning, and when they finally make it back to the Bifrost, swearing and cursing the daylight, they have their arms around each other, Loki’s thin frame tucked into Thor’s bulk.

Thor returns home sore and spent and happy, and falls into bed certain he will not dream. But dream he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are interested, most of the details are drawn from Norse mythology. Nóatún is Njord's hall; Njord is the Vanir god of the sea. Hveðrungr is one of Loki's names and means 'roarer'. Felli Fjörnets is from a kenning for Thor from Þórsdrápa. Felli fjörnets goða flugstalla is a compound kenning, meaning feller of the life webs (fjörnets) of the gods of the flight-edges, i.e. slayer of giants. The Ljosalfar, or Light Elves, live in Alfheim, and the Svartalfar, or Dark Elves, live in Svartalfaheim. Elves are traditionally associated with 'glamours', illusionary magics that fool humans, but which prove insubstantial when challenged. The Vanir are associated with seidr, magic, and are said to have taught it to the Aesir. Brunnhilde and Karnilla, however, are from Marvel comic continuity.
> 
> Next chapter: Thor struggles with his new-found lust for his brother, especially since Loki is suddenly over-fond of his brother, insisting on spending time with him and being more affectionate than he has been since they were children.


	2. Perilous Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor struggles to cope with his new-found lust for Loki, especially since Loki is suddenly over-fond of his brother, insisting on spending time with him and being more affectionate than he has been since they were children. Perhaps a second trip to The Hidden Pearl will help?

_...just as he who, with exhausted breath,_   
_having escaped from the sea to shore,_   
_turns to the perilous waters and gazes._

-          _Dante, Inferno_

Thor wakes late and stretches slowly, in no particular hurry to rise and resume the duties he was no doubt due to perform today. It has been a long time since he allowed himself such indulgence; this morning, he cannot think why. Despite his many, many efforts last night he has still woken hard and he palms his cock lazily, letting himself daydream of the most beautiful of yesterday’s conquests. His favourite had to be the tall, slim girl with the mischievous smile and a waterfall of dark hair, all long lean limbs and wicked promises in his ear, exactly his type. He’d had her, what, four – no, five times, unable to stop touching her as she laughed and gasped and shuddered. It is a good memory and he tightens his grip, stroking himself faster as he thinks of her dark hair brushing his face as she rode him, her pert breasts and narrow hips, the long line of her throat as she threw her head back -

\- _his brother’s face as he came, mouth open, screaming in pleasure as he was fucked_ –

\- and Thor is coming before he can stop himself, his whole body jerking in white-hot pleasure, the image of Loki coming around his own cock blazing in his mind. Except it was not Loki, he thinks desperately, and it was not him, but only an illusion, a harmless fantasy, and not real at all. But the sticky come drying on his hand and stomach is only too real, as was the delicious ecstasy of his orgasm. And he was thinking of Loki when he came.

No, Thor thinks, horrified at his own deviance. No, he will not believe it of himself. He cleans himself hurriedly, desperate to be rid of the evidence of what he has just done, and pulls on his sparring clothes. He needs – he needs to spar, yes, to spend the day with his friends. Sif was keen to try the balance of her new short sword, and Hogun has mentioned some new combat technique he wishes to practice. A day of hard physical work which would require his utmost concentration: yes, that is exactly what he needs to put this…anomaly behind him. He will think on this no more.

Except that when he reaches the training ground, it is to see Loki writhing on the floor, pinned beneath Hogun. Loki’s eyes are shut and his chest is heaving as he tries to push up, hips bucking and legs kicking as he tries to throw his weight against the impassive warrior, who has one hand grasped tightly around Loki’s wrists and the other flat on his chest, keeping him in place as he squirms. Thor is frozen in place, the blood roaring in his ears, terribly, horribly aware of a sudden flare of lust.

Thankfully, no-one seems aware of what is running through his mind.

“Ho, Thor! So good of you to join us so early in the afternoon!” quips Sif, who is the first to notice his arrival. “Hogun has perfected yet another way to drop us on our arses,” she continues, “as he is demonstrating on your brother. It is a strange day indeed when it is Loki who joins us for practice while you loll about in the palace.”

Hogun glances at Thor and releases Loki and they both stand, Loki brushing the dust from his clothes with the air of an aggrieved cat. Sif is right; it is indeed strange for Loki to be eager to roll about in the dirt with the Warriors Three. Loki nods to Thor with a small smile, but does not try to talk to him, instead exchanging barbed insults with Fandral and Volstagg, who are only too keen to mock Loki’s performance. Is he too looking for a way to keep his mind safely occupied, Thor wonders, keenly aware of the beads of sweat sliding down Loki’s throat. Is he too thinking of what they seen last night?

 A touch on his arm brings his wandering mind back to the present.

“Thor? Are you well?” Sif is peering up at him, looking anxious. Has she been talking to him while he has been staring at Loki?

“Ah, yes, forgive me,” he says, forcing himself to focus. “I fear I am still feeling the effects of last night. I am sure a good sparring session will help.”

“As you wish,” Sif says, now looking amused. “But I will not go easy on you for your self-inflicted sickness.”

“I would not dream of it,” Thor says, smiling, and together they choose their swords and begin to train. Thor is sloppy and slow at first, and Sif makes him pay for it, but he soon finds his rhythm and the fight becomes more balanced, Thor’s great strength against Sif’s skill and agility. When they break, he is surprised to see that Loki is still present, hurling his wicked throwing daggers at Volstagg, who is apparently supposed to be trying to dodge them. Fandral is rolling around on the floor laughing, as Volstagg’s padded practice jerkin is now fairly studded with small knives; he looks like a particularly rotund hedgehog and is red-faced and wheezing like a boar. Loki’s teeth are bared in a feral grin as he whips his blades at Volstagg, who despite being lighter on his feet than many expected, is clearly no match for Loki’s speed and accuracy.

Volstagg sees Thor watching and raises is hands in a parody of surrender.

“Oh! Lord Thor! Please save me from your wretched brother before he carves me up for supper!”

“I would need a much larger knife for that,” Loki sneers, but he is smiling and Thor is sure he is only jesting. “But I think you are right. Perhaps a change of partners is in order. Thor, would you like to try Hogan’s latest throw on me?”

“I -” Thor begins, his easy good humour sliding into an unfamiliar mixture of panic and excitement at the thought of being pressed along Loki’s body, holding him down as he struggles against him, but Sif has already stepped in.

“It would be a waste of his time. After all, you would stand no chance at all against Thor,” she says easily, seemingly unaware of the shadow that crosses Loki’s face at her words. “Thor, you should practice your wrestling with Volstagg. He’s the only one who can give you a proper workout. Loki, your hand to hand combat still needs work. You should spar with Fandral, and I’ll correct your form.”

It is an eminently sensible plan, and the best use of their time; after all, they are not here just to play about. Still, Thor feels a stab of disappointment alongside his relief, as Loki catches his eyes and shrugs with a wry smile before following Sif to the other side of the training yard.

The afternoon fades into evening and Thor waves his friends off as he and Loki return to their rooms to prepare for dinner with their parents. He is stiff and bruised, but his mind is mercifully free of anything except a deep and sincere longing for the baths. Loki seems too tired to make conversation, slipping silently into his room with only a casual nod. Thor heads straight for the bath chamber, pausing only to peel his sweat-stained clothes off and leave them in a pile near the door. He washes quickly – probably too quickly, in truth – with the bucket and soaps the servants keep stacked by the hot pool, making a mess of rinsing himself off in his hurry. He cannot help but groan as he finally slides into the steaming water of the main bath, feeling the heat penetrate and soothe his overtaxed muscles as the water rises to his neck. He tilts his head back on the rim and sighs happily.

“Good, brother?”

Thor bolts upright in surprise, sending the hot water crashing over the edge of the bath. Loki dances nimbly out of the way, laughing.

“I did not mean to scare you, Thor.  It is not like you to be so unaware of your surroundings.”

“I was half-asleep, and besides, I was not expecting you,” Thor grumbles, trying to sound tired and bad-tempered. Loki is wearing nothing but a thin robe and Thor does not want to think about what will happen next.

“You were expecting I would go to dinner dirty and stinking of sweat?” Loki asks, eyebrows lifting, and Thor quietly curses himself for being so stupid. Loki has not joined him in their shared baths for many months, preferring to bathe early in the morning instead of before dinner with Thor, but after training together all afternoon of course he would want to wash himself. Loki slips out of his robe and Thor turns away, pretending he is relaxing despite his pounding heart.

Thor carefully keeps his gaze fixed on the opposite wall as Loki washes himself, taking far longer to soap himself clean than Thor had managed. The inevitable cannot be avoided, however, and all too soon Loki slides into the water next to Thor, sighing contentedly. He should not, must not look, but it is impossible not to. Loki is stretched out, his pale skin gleaming in the water. He has his eyes closed, seemingly in bliss, and Thor stares at him hungrily. He has seen Loki naked many times before and thought nothing of it, but now – now his hands itch to touch his lean figure, to spread those long legs and stroke his cock to hardness, to suck bruises into his prominent hipbones, to mark that pale neck and -”

“You needn’t stare so,” Loki says lazily, swirling the water with his feet. Thor cannot breathe. What can he say – what excuse can he make –

“I am unhurt. In fact, I think Sif got in more hits to you than any of them managed with me,” Loki continues after the pause, and Thor cannot help a great sigh of relief. “I am not the delicate flower you seem to think I am.”

“Of course not,” Thor says, giddy with relief. “I would not want to face you in battle.” He is uncomfortably aware that he is almost half-hard, but Loki still has his eyes closed and his head tipped back.

“I am glad to hear you say that,” Loki murmurs, but Thor is barely listening, gritting his teeth and willing his treacherous flesh into submission. Just in time, for Loki is sitting up and leaning in so he is resting against Thor, their arms and thighs pressed together. They sit in companionable silence and Thor tries hard to appreciate his brother’s unusual affection instead of dwelling on the feeling of all that wet skin.

“Thor, I fear we have become…distant to each other, over these past few years,” Loki says abruptly. “I would…I would undo this. I would have us be friends again, as we once were.”

“You are more than just my friend, Loki,” Thor responds anxiously, meaning every word. “You are my brother, and I love you.”

“And I love you, more than anyone. Yet you must see that we do not spend time together as we used to. That is why I asked you to come with me last night, but I fear I have only driven you further away.”

“Not at all,” Thor says quickly, keen to avoid discussing the events of last night. “And you are right: we should spend more time together, as befits brothers,” he adds, for this is something he had thought, before all this…complication.

“Without Sif and the Warriors Three?” Loki asks, turning to look at Thor. “They are fine friends indeed, but I would like to have you to myself from time to time.”

Thor’s mouth is dry, despite the steam and wet heat. Loki is looking at him so intently and he is so close, water droplets running down his face. He balls his fists tight before he does something completely unforgivable and he doesn’t trust his voice, so chooses to nod jerkily instead. Loki smiles broadly, as he rarely does, and it would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, so easy to pull him into an embrace.

“Thank you, brother,” Loki says and Thor hates himself, hates that he cannot seem to stop these wicked thoughts that are poisoning his mind. Loki has humbled himself, reached out to Thor to try and strengthen their relationship, and all Thor can think of is touching and tasting him. It would be so much better for Thor if he could only avoid Loki for a while, let his mind settle and this sickness pass from him, but if he does so now Loki will think he is rejecting him. He cannot hurt his brother so. No, he will work hard to be a better brother to Loki and to treat him more kindly, and if that means he must endure this terrible temptation then he will do so. After all, Thor is a great warrior: surely, this is a battle he can win.

Loki nuzzles his head against Thor and then rises, turning as he climbs out so Thor is presented with an excellent view of his taut ass dripping with water. He doesn’t bother to put his robe back on, but strolls towards the door naked and glistening.

“I shall see you at dinner,” he calls over his shoulder before leaving, and Thor sits in the hot bath, desperately, achingly hard yet again and wonders what he has done to make the Norns hate him so.

The rest of the week goes no better. Loki is everywhere Thor goes, as constant as his shadow. He watches Thor train with the Einherjar, offers him titbits at dinner, amuses him with small magic tricks during the interminable council meetings they must attend and, every night, joins him in the bath. As proof of Loki’s feelings for his brother, of the sincerity of his words, it might have been bearable, were it not for Loki’s new-found fondness for touching Thor.

It has always been Thor’s way to reach out to those he loves, be it a friendly elbow clasp, an affectionate arm slung round a shoulder, or a firm hand to the back of the neck to settle Loki during times of stress. But Loki has ever held himself aloof, choosing to sit near Thor, but not to lean into him, to accept Thor’s embraces but not return them; even with their mother, Loki shows affection with his eyes or his words, not his hands. But now – now, Loki cannot seem to stop touching Thor. A light hand on his arm. A gentle bump of shoulders when they sit together. A tug on his hand to get his attention. Loki even offers to braid his hair in the morning or to massage his shoulders at night, offers that Thor must decline for he can no longer trust himself. It is utterly maddening.

Thor has not been this aroused this often since he was a youth first learning what his cock was for. Sheer repetition has dulled his horror at how much and how frequently he desires Loki: all his energy is given over to concealing it, to keeping his body in check until he can find a few moments of privacy and bring himself some relief. He imagines Loki on his knees, on his back, riding him, pictures Loki teasing, Loki desperate, Loki laughing in joy. He dreams, endlessly, of some small event from the day where Loki touched him, but in his fantasies instead of enduring Loki’s touch in silence, he grabs his brother, kisses him hard and fucks him until he screams. He takes to biting his hand as he comes to stop himself crying out something incriminating, but this only leads to a sympathetic Loki slowly rubbing a healing salve into his fingers while Thor trembles with barely supressed lust. He cannot go on like this, and so when Loki mentions one night in the bath that he intends to return to The Hidden Pearl to try and improve his glamours, Thor seizes his chance.

“I would come with you,” he blurts out, and Loki gives him a surprised look.

“I had thought it not to your liking,” Loki says slowly, watching Thor closely. “Are you sure you wish to return?”

“I – I have changed my mind,” Thor says weakly, unable to think of a good excuse for his complete turnaround. “Please – please will you take me?” he asks, hoping that if he asks humbly enough it might prevent Loki from asking any more questions.

Luckily, Loki only replies, “I would like that,” and squeezes Thor’s hand.

The next night they again venture to Vanaheim. Loki weaves the same glamour on himself, but chooses a new face for Thor, just in case anyone remembers his anger the last time they came. When they enter, the madam greets Loki warmly; so, he has been coming here without me, Thor thinks, unused to the bitter sting of jealousy this thought provokes.

“Two for the show?” she asks.

“Not tonight,” Loki says, to Thor’s surprise. “I have made arrangements for a private performance. But I wish to purchase a seat for my friend.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” she says, pocketing the coin Loki offers her. “Will the Red Room meet your needs?”

“Indeed,” Loki says, and pats Thor on the back before walking away down one of the branching corridors that lead off from the main entrance. Thor was not expecting this but it suits his purpose, for now he can let himself enjoy the show without fear of Loki noticing his excitement. The madam coughs discreetly and he realises that yet again he is staring, and he switches his attention to her.

“Our show tonight will open with a performance of Freyr and Freyja, the twin jewels of Vanaheim, followed by the fierce Valkyrie Brunnhilde being tamed by the witch-queen Karnilla, and climaxing with Loki, Asgard’s silver son, taking tribute from Faradei Sureshot of Alfheim,” she summarises briskly. “Your friend has reserved you a private seat, which includes your first drink. If you would like another, please ask one of the serving girls at any time. After the show, if you would like to meet with one of our actors for an individual performance, please do come and see me and I will be happy to discuss your needs.”

“There will be no performance of Thor and Loki?” Thor asks, feeling somewhat disappointed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our Thor has been reserved for the evening,” the madam says, managing to sound as if she genuinely means it. “Both our Thor and Loki have proved immensely popular, you understand. But the Princes of Asgard will be performing at the end of the week, or, if you would like, our Thor is available for a private performance tomorrow at midday?”

“Ah, no, thank you,” Thor manages. Despite what Loki likes to say, he is not so self-obsessed as to want to fuck himself. Besides, it is the Loki performance he truly wishes to see; the name Faradei seems familiar, although he cannot quite place it.

The madam nods and waves him through to the same seat he had before. This time, it seems only a short while before the lamps are lit and the show starts. The pair playing Freyr and Freyja weave a near-perfect likeness of the twins and it is a stirring performance, as is the illusion of Brunnhilde and Karnilla; tonight, it is Karnilla who dominates Brunnhilde, leading the replica-Valkyrie around the stage by a collar and chain before fucking her with a truly immense strap-on. Thor feels a little guilty, as he has always respected and admired Brunnhilde, and is certain that she would be outraged to discover her image being used in this way, but in truth he cares only for the final performance, and waits impatiently for Loki to appear.

As before, the half-elf walks on stage as himself, taking his time before shimmering into Loki’s form. Only then does a smaller Ljosalfr join him, a small, slim blonde not quite five feet tall. He shimmers into character and now Thor recognises him: Faradei Sureshot, one of Alfheim’s best archers and a close confidante of Lord Freyr. Thor has only met him once, many years ago, when he and Loki were on a diplomatic tour of the realms. There had been an archery contest in honour of the visiting princes which, unsurprisingly, Faradei had won. Thor had been bored stiff but Loki had seemed interested, presenting Faradei with a golden arrow and talking with him for some time. Clearly someone else had remembered that encounter, for otherwise it seemed a strange choice of performers, when even Thor has heard that Freyr had publically invited Faradei to join him and his consort Gerðr in bed.

There are still props on the stage from Karnilla and Brunnhilde’s performance, and the false-Loki settles himself on one of the low chairs, legs spread wide as he sprawls in his seat. It is something Thor has seen Loki do many times and he is already hard, already panting as the Faradei-imposter kneels before the smirking Loki. The elf leans forward and licks at Loki’s cock, moving his head around as he does so to allow the audience to see. Loki tips his head back and groans, and Thor does not dare touch himself for fear he will come on the spot. Faradei swallows Loki’s now fully hard cock, taking the whole length easily, burying his face between Loki’s legs. Loki grabs him by his long blonde hair and holds him firmly in place as he fucks his mouth and this, this is something that had not even crossed Thor’s mind, a dominant, gloating Loki taking his pleasure forcefully.

Loki pulls his cock out of Faradei’s mouth and stands, towering over the small blonde. Faradei remains kneeling, head bowed, and Loki tugs him by the hair again, pulling him forward and pushing him onto all fours. Faradei goes willingly, chest heaving, his own cock already hard and slick. Loki makes a great show of coating his fingers with the thick, viscous lubricant a stagehand passes up to him while Faradei waits, his head hanging low between his arms. One finger, then two, then three; Faradei is trembling all over as Loki works him open, the fingers of one hand buried within him, the other yanking viciously on the elf’s long hair. Four fingers and then his whole damn hand: Thor has never seen this done before and cannot believe his eyes, the elf whimpering as Loki carefully fists him for a few moments before pulling his hand free.

Now Loki fits himself to Faradei, curling around him, using his superior height and reach to keep one hand on the elf’s head and the other on Faradei’s ass. Loki holds Faradei’s head down to the floor, twisting it so the audience can see his face, see the elf begging and pleading while Loki torments him, letting the head of his cock circle around Faradei’s hole, rubbing the thumb of his free hand over his stretched entrance. Faradei pushes back desperately but Loki is too tall and too strong, effortlessly dominating the smaller elf, who whines in frustration. It is not until Faradei is all but screaming Loki’s name, begging him to fuck him, please, fuck him hard. that Loki decides to be generous and thrusts in brutally hard. The elf barely has time to draw breath before Loki is fucking him, both hands now tight on his hips, slamming into him with bruising force. Faradei’s cock jerks with every impact but Loki ignores it, his teeth bared as he uses the elf as hard and as fast as he can until he groans, low and guttural, and pulls out to come over the elf’s back.

The elf is babbling, desperate, as Loki hauls him up to his knees, facing the audience. He arranges himself behind Faradei, holding him against his chest, and reaches round to finally stroke the elf’s swollen cock. It only takes three, four pulls and Faradei is coming all over himself, keening as Loki bites him hard on the shoulder. Thor is breathing hard, incredibly aroused by this image of Loki as the dominant partner. The performers are bowing, the crowd is cheering, but Thor cannot wait any longer and he fumbles at his trousers, pulling his own aching cock out and coming the moment he closes his hand around it.

As soon as his orgasm is over though, the shame rises up within him. He has just climaxed in public, for although the booths are relatively secluded, they are not quite private, and worse, he did so to the thought of being taken. By his younger brother. Thor has never let anyone fuck him, not when he was young and it might have been excused, and certainly not since he received Mjolnir and became the most powerful warrior in Asgard. He is not supposed to want such a thing but, he thinks desperately as he tucks himself away and tries to clean himself up, what use is it to fret over a deviant position when it is his own brother he desires?

He waits until the room is mostly empty before sliding from his now rather sticky seat, tugging at his tunic in the hope that it will cover his stained trousers. It does not and he cannot possibly walk out and find Loki with his own come all over his clothes. He looks around frantically and bumps against his untouched mead; a stroke of luck at last! He deliberately spills the sticky, strong-smelling drink over his trousers and the seat. He will happily pay for the damage if it means he can meet Loki with some scraps of dignity left.

Loki is indeed waiting in the main hallway. Thor inspects him closely, looking for evidence of what he was doing while Thor watched the show, but Loki’s glamour is unruffled and he appears to be in exactly the same state as before. Thor, of course, cannot say the same, and Loki rolls his eyes at the mess Thor has made of his clothes.

“An accident with the mead,” Thor answers as casually as he can, when asked.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” Loki scolds, but no more is said of it, to Thor’s relief. Loki does not ask what Thor thought of the second show, or volunteer how he has spent his night, and Thor does not ask. He cannot think how he would carry on a conversation about his evening and chooses instead to be quietly grateful when Loki affectionally brushes against him as they walk to the boat.

The journey back to the palace is wonderfully pleasant, for when Loki leans into him he can respond without a thought, wrapping his arm tightly around his brother as they hurtle through the Bifrost. His lust has, for the moment, been completely slaked, and he can enjoy his brother’s affection without fearing his body will betray him.

Back in his own bed, clean and, for once, sated, Thor stares into the darkness and comes to a decision. He needs to return to The Hidden Pearl and ask for the half-elf Loki impersonator. He will work out his lust with the courtesan for as long as it takes for this obsession to fade, which will allow him to continue repairing his relationship with his brother. It may prove expensive, but Loki is more than worth it.

It is a good plan, Thor thinks proudly, without any flaws that he can see, and so he lets himself fall into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Norse mythology, Freyr and Freyja are the children of Njord by his unnamed sister, and in the Lokasenna Loki claims that the gods caught Freyr and Freyja in bed together. In the Ynglinga Saga, Snorri Sturluson states that incest was accepted among the Vanir, but the Aesir found it abhorrent and so, after the Aesir conquered the Vanir, Odin put a stop to it. Faradei, on the other hand, is another of Marvel's inventions, a blatant Legolas-copy, especially [in the Earth's Mightiest Heroes cartoon](http://avengersearthsmightiestheroes.wikia.com/wiki/Faradei). He's not that short next to Hawkeye, but the comic wikia gives his height as 4'7, and the thought of a 4'7' Orlando Bloom lookalike next to 6'2 Tom Hiddleston was too good to ignore. 
> 
> Next chapter: Thor arranges some private time with an imitation Loki, and cannot see any way in which this might prove problematic.


	3. Across the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for: Thor finally has the opportunity to work out his lust on the imitation-Loki at the Pearl, but it turns out to be less satisfying than he had hoped.

_Thus every nature moves across the tide_   
_of the great sea of being to its own port,_   
_each with its given instinct as its guide_

-          _Dante, Paradiso_

His mind resolved, Thor would have liked to return to The Hidden Pearl the very next night, but when he put the idea to Loki he was met with more questions than he had anticipated. Loki was keen to know who or what had so captured Thor’s interest that he wanted to return so soon, and Thor soon found himself admitting that it was not the show he wanted to see again, but one of the performers. Terrified at how easily Loki had pried this small truth from him, Thor made a valiant effort to feign nonchalance, as if it were but some sudden whim that he might see this remarkable glamour up close and, as it were, in the flesh. He did not think that Loki was fooled, but mercifully his brother chose sly innuendo and knowing smirks over any further investigation, and suggested that they wait for a day when the show was not performed, to be sure that all the ‘actors’ were available.

This proof of Loki’s familiarity with the place sparks that same sour jealousy for Thor, but he can see that it is of benefit to him, for he has no idea how to secure in advance the half-elf that plays Loki without somehow involving his brother and well – well, that does not bear thinking about. So he endures, as best he can, another three days of mounting frustration every time Loki touches him. Loki’s displays of affection have become so frequent that the whole of the palace has noticed it: their mother takes him aside after dinner and expresses her approval of their renewed closeness; Sif makes a point of asking what spell has backfired to make Loki act so strangely; he even overhears the servants commenting that the younger Prince seems happier than he has for years, although they attribute his changed behaviour to the attention of some mystery maiden.

This touches a nerve in Thor, and he remembers Loki speaking of paying anything for one night with one you cannot have. It meant little to him at that moment, but now he reflects on how much it means to have even the illusion of what he wants, and knows that yes, he would pay any price for it. Loki has spoken of learning _seidr_ from the Pearl’s courtesans, but perhaps that is only a cover for his own hidden desire. Thor spoke truly when he said he could not imagine anyone refusing Loki, and he means it even more honestly now. But some small selfish part of him is defiantly glad that Loki has not declared himself to Sif, or Amora, or whoever his secret love might be, for Thor does not think he could bear to watch Loki be with another. Which is beyond stupidity, for that is exactly what he has enjoyed, watching the image of Loki with Faradei while the real Loki no doubt enjoyed someone elsewhere in the brothel.

Thor does not like this newly discovered part of himself overmuch, and struggles to understand the tangled mess his mind and heart have become. Self-reflection has never been one of his strengths, and without someone to talk the matter over with, the burden of his feelings seems to dominate his life. Action has always proved the better path for him, and so he counts the hours until he can return to the Pearl and do _something_ about what he feels.

It is strange to travel to Vanaheim in daylight, Loki’s practised lies convincing enough to grant them a day free from their duties. Thor does not know what his parents and friends think he is doing, and right now he does not care. He is so impatient he forgets to wait for Loki to cast the glamour after leaving the boat; he strides off so quickly that Loki resorts to grabbing him by his hair to drag him back. Loki scolds him angrily but all Thor can think about is the performance with Faradei as he slumps against the cave wall.

“Thor, are you even listening to me?” Loki snaps and Thor tries desperately to pay attention to his brother’s words and not the movement of his lips. “You must remember that your glamour is very fragile. I have had to keep your hair and beard as they are, only a different colour, and I cannot change your features too much in case someone touches your face. It is enough that no-one will think you a prince of Asgard, but it is not as strong as I would like it to be.”

“I will be careful,” Thor promises, and adds, curiously, “so what do I look like?”

“A brainless brute,” Loki says acerbically, “since that is what you seem determined to be today. I have added scars and a slight aura of aggression, to dissuade people from examining you too closely. All they should see is a sell-sword with a great deal of gold looking for a good time.”

Thor accepts the rebuke and does his best to be patient as Loki once again becomes Hveðrungr. Safely disguised, they enter the Pearl and the madam welcomes them both with a beaming smile.

“It is very good of you to bring so many new friends to our humble establishment,” she gushes to Loki and Thor realises that of course, as far as she knows, he is the third newcomer Loki has arrived with. “The Blue Room has been prepared for you, but what can we offer your friend?”

Thor stares at her, his mind racing. He had thought it would be like the last time – that Loki would vanish and he could make his request alone. How can he ask for what he wants with Loki stood right next to him?

“That is for him to decide,” Loki says cheerfully, slapping Thor on the back in an overly theatrical manner. “This is a house of _secret_ pleasures, is it not? I only ask that you treat him as well as you have treated me, for he has been waiting most anxiously to sample your delights for himself.”

With this, Loki gives Thor an exaggerated wink and strolls off down yet another corridor. Thor has never been more grateful for Loki’s silver tongue and diplomatic skill. He turns to the madam who smiles warmly at him.

“Any friend of Hveðrungr is most welcome in this house, good sir! Did you have something or someone in mind for today, or would you like to hear what we can offer a discerning gentleman?”

“I have heard,” Thor begins, playing his role as a stranger, “that it is possible here to spend some time with Loki of Asgard?”

“Ah, yes, our Silver Prince, a most popular choice. Luckily, our Loki is indeed available today, although, as you will no doubt understand, time spent in the company of such a regal individual does not come cheap.”

Show me the depth of your pockets, Thor translates wryly, and offers up a stack of gold coins.

“Splendid, splendid,” chirps the madam. “If you would care to follow this young lady -” and that is it done. It was easier than he dared to hope it would be and Thor follows the stoic serving girl through the warren of corridors to a nondescript door with mounting excitement.

The room he is shown into is unremarkable, as far as these kinds of rooms go: an oversized bed that can accommodate at least three, with regularly spaced posts at the head and foot for binding and other such games; a recessed shelf along the wall with basins of water, hand-towels, small bowls of various unguents and lotions, a chest no doubt containing the standard selection of props and aids. The furnishings are of a remarkably high quality, but then given the price he has just paid it is clear that this establishment caters only to the rich and well-connected.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” the serving girl says calmly, her face carefully devoid of expression. “Your companion will be along shortly; before he arrives, are there any specific instructions you would like me to convey?”

“Instructions?” Thor asks, slightly bemused. Various pleasure houses offer various services, this he well knows, but such services were usually arranged with one’s chosen courtesan, not via the house staff. The girl is obviously used to the question though, as she replies without any hint of embarrassment or condescension.

“We pride ourselves here on providing a completely immersive experience for our guests. We are offering not just a likeness but a complete performance. For example, would you prefer him to be haughty and aloof or friendly and teasing? Do you want him to punish you for your presumption or to be desperate for your touch?” She looks Thor over, and he remembers that to her he looks a tough mercenary, brutal and battle-scarred. “Or, if you wish, you can choose for him to be unwilling at first but overwhelmed by your prowess. Or for him to fight you until pinned?”

“No,” Thor interrupts, horrified. He wants many forbidden things, but what he wants above all else is willing. He could never hurt Loki like that; just the thought of it makes his stomach roil. The girl just nods and Thor momentarily hates her for her impassivity. “I - I would like him – I want it to be as if he has always wanted me, and has finally found the courage to say it. I want him to be excited and happy and -” Thor swallows. It is hard to admit what he wants, even to this least judgemental of strangers. “I want him to call me brother,” he says quietly, looking away.

“As you wish,” says the girl and leaves. Thor sits on the bed and rubs his palms on his thighs. He has not been this nervous in an age.

The door opens and Loki walks in.

Except – except it is not Loki. Oh, the likeness is good, very good, and the man certainly looks like his brother, but Thor grew up with Loki, has seen him almost every day of his life and this close all he can see is the wrongness. The eyes are the wrong shade of green, the nose is too sharp, the lips too thin. Loki is not this lean and he does not move in quite this way. It is an excellent copy, a truly wonderful imitation, and Thor can only imagine that it is the result of careful study and long practice. But it is not his brother.

The man’s face lights up at the sight of Thor.

“Brother,” he says, and if Thor had not already known that this would not work, the sound of his voice would confirm it. It is the voice of a stranger and all Thor’s lust is gone, crushed beneath his sudden disappointment. What had been enough to drive him mad on a lamp-lit stage yards away is not the same when it is standing before him. But he cannot back out now.

He cannot bring himself to say ‘Loki’ or ‘brother’ to this man and so instead beckons him closer. The performer approaches, still smiling as if Thor is the most wonderful thing he has ever seen. It is what he asked for, after all, and Thor accepts his embrace as he settles into his lap, face tucked into the crook of Thor’s neck.

“You do not know how much this means to me,” the man says. “I have wanted you for so long. I had thought I would never know how it feels to be in your arms.”

Thor inhales raggedly. Oh yes, it is exactly what he asked for and it stings as sharp as all small wounds do. The man takes this for lust and not distress and begins to press gentle kisses to Thor’s neck. He rocks gently against Thor, just teasing for now, and despite his disappointment, he feels himself stir a little at the friction. No, this is not Loki, but he has still spent the last three days burning with frustration, and if the man does not speak or Thor does not look at his face, then it is simple enough to imagine that it is Loki he is touching. It may not be the answer he thought it was, but a good fuck is still sure to help, he thinks, and in truth it has been a long time since he has had a man. He needs to do something more than pine and he is tired of nothing better than his own hand.

It is far too easy to surge up and grab the startled man while he is still off balance, to lift him bodily and throw him onto the bed. Loki would not be mastered so easily, Thor thinks as he pins the other man beneath him, but then it does no good to focus on that. The false-Loki seems pleased with his sudden interest and grasps Thor’s hair with both of his hands. Thor allows himself to be pulled into a kiss; it is good, very good, and Thor rolls his hips as their tongues meet, intent on losing himself in the sensation.

They have to break apart eventually, the courtesan gasping for air, dropping his hands to Thor’s arms. “Brother,” he says again, and Thor wishes he would not, for this is not his brother and he no longer desires the pretence. Neither does he desire the long, slow exploration he imagines when he thinks of being with his brother for the first time: all he wants now is to drown the fear and the shame he has been living with, and lose himself in the warm body beneath him.

 “I have changed my mind,” Thor says, cutting the other man off before he can speak again. “I do not want this – affection. I just want to fuck you. Hard. Fast. Understood?” He tries to sounds like the careless thug he appears to be.

The courtesan does not seem fazed by Thor’s sudden aggression. “As you wish,” he murmurs, running his palms over Thor’s biceps. “Shall I prepare myself?”

“Yes,” Thor says, and lets the man up. They both strip quickly; Thor has no interest in dragging this out and the performer seems to understand his mood. The false-Loki takes one of the small pots from the shelf and returns to the bed with it, lying down on his back with his knees bent. He scoops a generous amount of a viscous lotion out and lifts his hips slightly as he inserts two fingers into himself without preamble, gasping a little as he does so.

It is not Loki, but it is close enough that Thor’s irritation and disappointment quickly turns to lust. He settles himself at the foot of the bed and watches avidly as the man’s slick fingers slide in and out of his hole. The angle must be awkward but the courtesan does not seem to mind, adding a third and then a fourth finger as he opens himself up for Thor. It is a pleasing sight but Thor’s patience has been stretched to the limit.

“Are you ready?” he asks impatiently, knowing that he must seem a brute. The other man runs a practised eye over Thor’s throbbing erection.

“Will you slick yourself for me?” he asks, eyes wide. “It is only because you are so large -”

“Yes, yes,” Thor says irritably; it may be a long time since he has done this but he remembers it well, and does not need the flattery to guide him. He gropes for the pot and smears the lubricant over his cock. It is cool against his heated flesh and he strokes himself a little, enjoying the sensation.

“Roll over,” Thor tells the courtesan, who does so, rising on to all fours. Thor positions himself and uses one hand to guide his cock into the man’s stretched hole, forcing himself to go slowly. He knows, without vanity, that he is a large man, and while there is not much gentleness in him in this moment he does not wish to cause unnecessary pain. The heat and the tightness is overwhelmingly good and once fully sheathed he lets himself slump over the man’s back, keeping as still as he can while the man’s body clenches around him.

“Now?” he asks when he thinks he must move or die.

“Yes,” the other man gasps and that is it: Thor grabs him by the hips and starts fucking him in earnest, pulling back until only the tip of his cock remains in the courtesan’s body and then slamming back in. There is no finesse, no attempt to draw out his pleasure in this rough fucking, just raw animal instinct as Thor chases his own orgasm. Like this it is easier to imagine that it really is Loki beneath him, all creamy skin and dark hair, gasping as Thor takes him, and it is that thought that prompts him to move his hand round to the other man’s cock and stroke him roughly. The courtesan is pinned by Thor’s bulk and can do nothing but moan as Thor grips his cock firmly, letting his powerful thrusts jerk the other man’s cock against his still-slick fingers and palm.

At this pace and after such intense frustration Thor cannot last long and he does not try to, his thrusts stuttering frantically as he comes, shaking with the sudden intensity of his release. He is not so careless as to ignore the desperate twitching of the cock in his hand and it only takes a moment to wring a climax from the courtesan, who is far more vocal in his pleasure than Thor had been. He pulls out and flops face-down on the bed, heedless of the mess in his sudden exhaustion.

He feels – he does not know what he feels, except that it is not how he thought it would be. There is none of the lazy glow he usually feels after an orgasm, only the bitter knowledge that while enjoyable, taking the imitation Loki has not brought the satisfaction he had hoped for. It was a good fuck and nothing more; he would have been better off saving his coin and tumbling a palace guard. It is not enough, he realises with sudden clarity, just to have the likeness of Loki: what he wants is his brother, not just his body but his sharp tongue and quick mind. This is not just a sudden perverted fancy, a deviant obsession to be cured by fucking it out of his system. His lust for Loki is part of his love for his brother, a strange, entangled truth that now dwells in his core, shaping his every thought

“Is that what you wanted?” asks his companion, breaking the silence with a question more cutting than he can know. Thor makes a noise approximating assent: he is done with this charade and wishes now to be alone as soon as possible. The courtesan hesitates for a moment before laying his hand on Thor’ back. “That was – that was wonderful,” the other man says, sounding completely sincere; he is a better actor than Thor had given him credit for. “I am so happy, brother,” he adds, and that prompts Thor to sit up.

“No,” he says, more harshly than he had intended. “Do not call me that, for it is not so.”

“Ah,” the man says, biting his lip. “Then I will call you anything he chose,” he says after a pause, looking adoringly into Thor’s eyes, “if only you will call me your Loki.”

“No!” Thor growls and suddenly he is angry, not at this man who is, after all, only following the script Thor gave him, but at himself for ending up in this mess. He grabs the courtesan by the shoulders and the man freezes, keeping perfectly still as he waits to see what Thor will do. Perversely that only makes Thor angrier; he knows he is behaving terribly and hates himself for it, but he cannot seem to stop himself as he snarls, “You are _not_ Loki.”

The man’s eyes widen and his mouth opens – and a shimmer passes over him, the likeness of Loki rippling like water and flowing away to reveal the features of the half-elf underneath. Thor glances from the man’s stunned expression to the tiny sparks of electricity dancing from his own fingertips: did he break the glamour?

“What did you – how did you do that?” the half-elf asks in amazement, confirming Thor’s fears. “Are you a _seidrmarr_?”  Thor can only shake his head in denial and release the man.

Thor backs away, suddenly afraid. A glamour will not work on someone who knows the caster well, Loki had said – did it work the other way too, that an imitation could be undone by someone who knows the original? Or is it something to do with his own power, for although Thor cannot weave _seidr_ he has the lightning in his blood and the storm in his heart, and he knows that the elemental power within him is capable of much more than what he uses it for. What if – what if he breaks his own glamour and he is discovered here? The word would soon spread that the Mighty Thor was so overcome by his depraved lust that he paid to fuck the image of his own brother, a shame all the more terrible because he knows it to be true.

It must not be and Thor manages to choke out “I am sorry,” while he yanks on his clothes. The half-elf is still staring in him in astonishment but seems too stunned to try and stop him; either that, or he fears what Thor might do if provoked further and that thought causes a hot flush of shame within him. Thor bolts, half-jogging through the winding corridors as he searches for the exit. He fairly flies past the madam, who calls out after him, but he ignores her, rushing back to the relative privacy of the boat.

Thor huddles in the stern, his head in his hands. So much for his flawless plan: it has turned into an unmitigated disaster. His lust is indeed spent, for the moment, but it has brought him no peace. He will not return here, he thinks, for it has done him no good. No, he will just have to manage by himself, holding this secret deep in his heart. For the rest of his damn life he will lock the full depth of his love for his brother away, and he will guard himself always in Loki’s presence, keeping a watch upon himself to ensure that no-one, least of all Loki, will ever know what he suffers.

He hears quick footsteps and looks up, braced for more trouble. There is a blonde man looking around anxiously: their eyes meet and the blonde shimmers back into Loki.

“Thor!” he exclaims quietly and Thor shudder at the strange cold-water shock as his own glamour breaks. Loki comes closer, mouth opening to no doubt ask what is going on, but when he sees the look on Thor’s face he just sighs and climbs into the boat without a word.

Loki guides the boat not back to the shores of the Bifrost site but out onto the vastness of Vanaheim’s great sea. The boat bobs gently in the waves as Loki lays himself down and motions for Thor to do the same. They lay together, staring up at the darkening sky, which is streaked with lurid reds and oranges, quite unlike the golden warmth of Asgard.

“Are you well, brother?” Loki asks quietly. Thor turns his head, but Loki continues to gaze upward, and so Thor turns his attention back to the blazing sky.

“No,” he confesses.

“Were you not satisfied with your companion’s skills?” It is strange to hear Loki ask such a question without any hint of amusement. Thor almost looks at him, to see if he is smirking, but if he looks at Loki he knows he will be unable to have this conversation.

“It was…I thought it was what I wanted. A fantasy, as you said, a taste of what I cannot have. But…”

“But it was not enough,” Loki supplies softly. “In fact, it has only made you feel worse, because it was only a lie, and not the truth you desire.”

“Yes,” Thor replies, surprised. “Was it so for you as well?”

“Not exactly,” Loki says, and volunteers nothing else. He shifts and they are silent for a moment. The only sound is the splashing of the waves and the creak of the wood: it is as if they are the only two people left in the world after a great flood.

 “Will you not tell me what burdens you?” Loki says at last, and Thor clenches his fists. He wants so desperately to tell Loki how he feels, to have the words spoken and for Loki to explain to him why he feels the way he does and what he should do about it, with that beloved mixture of smug superiority and patience that Thor has relied on all his life. But of course, he cannot speak to Loki of this, cannot speak to anyone of the terrible darkness in him.

“I cannot,” Thor whispers, “much as I want to, Loki. I simply cannot.”

“Do you not trust me?” Loki asks, and he sounds so hurt that Thor rolls to his side to look his brother in the face.

“I trust you more than any other,” he says fiercely, the words he wants to say building in him like a storm. “I love you, Loki, you must know this – you must know -”

“Know what, Thor?” Loki says softly, turning his head so their faces are only inches away from each other. He is beautiful and he is forbidden.

“Loki,” Thor pleads and he does not know what he is asking for. Loki stares at him, waiting, but Thor cannot bear to continue. He has fought a thousand battles, roaring his defiance, his courage never failing, but this is not something he can fight with fists or weapons, and so all his great strength counts for nothing. This is not who he thought he was, and he feels like he has been cut adrift from all the certainties in his life, from everything he defined himself as: a brave warrior, a good brother, a noble man.

In this small space he is a coward, terrified of what he might say, what he might do, and so he closes his eyes and lets his head fall to Loki’s chest, curling into his brother as he did when they were small. Loki wraps his arms around him and does not comment on how Thor, the great warrior, is trembling.

“All will be well,” Loki murmurs, repeating the phrase like a spell, and perhaps it is, for Thor feels himself relax in his brother’s arms. “All will be well, Thor. You will see.”

They drift like that as the sun sets and the stars blink into life, until hunger and cold pricks them from their lassitude. They sit up and the spell is broken: Loki recounts amusing stories and torrid gossip as he guides the boat back to shore, skilfully drawing smiles and laughter from Thor until his usual good humour has returned. They speak no more of troubling things, and Thor lets himself be distracted, enjoying Loki’s company without any deeper thoughts. Loki does not join him in the bath that night and excuses himself from dinner, waving away Thor’s concern with a smile and an agreement to talk tomorrow.

All will be well, Thor tells himself as he waits for sleep to claim him. Loki has said it and Thor must believe him. Somehow, all will be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Thor, I'm really putting him through the wringer here. It'll be worth it, I promise.
> 
> Next chapter: All will be well, just as Loki said. You can always trust Loki, right?


	4. An Uncharted Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is not well. Loki has become distant; a desperate Thor will agree to anything if Loki will spend time with him, even if it means returning to the Pearl for one last trick.

_My course is set for an uncharted sea._

_Dante, Paradiso_

All is not well. Loki has become distant again, a flicker in the corner of Thor’s eye as he moves about the realms, always busy, always declining politely but firmly when Thor corners him to ask him to join a quest, a hunt, a training session. Even when Thor changes tactics and asks, as convincingly as he can, if he might join Loki in his studies, or go with him on one of his suddenly innumerable errands, Loki turns him down with vague promises of time spent together soon. Thor would be certain that somehow Loki had discovered his perverse desire and was avoiding him, except that the only time Thor can be sure of his company is when they bathe together before dinner; surely Loki would not willingly sit next to Thor naked if he knew what was in Thor’s heart? Here at least, Loki continues to show his affection, leaning against Thor without a sign that anything is amiss, and by this point Thor is so choked up with fear and longing and questions that he dares not start a conversation, and his silver-tongued brother seems content merely to sit in silence.

Thor has never known what it is to be so unhappy, to have a weight upon his heart that seems to want to pull him to his knees. His own frustration and sense of wrongness makes him harder, sharper: the servants start to avoid him and, more subtly, so do his friends. Oh, they each try to reach out to him, to ease his heartache and soothe his frayed temper, but all their understanding comes with a price as they try to pry his secret from him. He cannot, will not tell them of the truth of his despair, and faced with his refusal what can they do but leave him to the solitude he claims to desire? He belatedly makes an effort to smile, to ask for patience and time, and, baffled, they grant it, but without their company he only broods more and feels more and more the shadow of the prince he was.

Still, it is not in his nature to admit defeat and he will find a way to get what he wants: Loki at his side, if not in his bed. After being rebuffed over and over Thor has only one idea left, to ask directly and simply for Loki’s company, and perhaps it is what he should have done from the beginning. He has started entering the baths early, to be sure he is there when Loki arrives, to maximise what little time Loki has for him. He is a little calmer now in the presence of his brother’s nakedness, but he has learnt his lesson well, and jerks his cock hard and fast in the privacy of his room before going to the baths, so his body cannot betray him. Now, he soaks in the deep pool, planning his strategy and waiting for Loki.

Loki looks genuinely pleased to see him when he comes through the door and it is the best moment in Thor’s day – at least, until Loki slides in the water and arranges himself next to Thor, going so far as to rest his head against Thor’s shoulder. It is a risk to speak but Thor still counts himself a warrior and seizes his chance.

“It is good to spend time with you brother,” he begins, “for you have been much occupied of late.”

“Mmm,” Loki replies, and Thor pauses, but Loki seems disinclined to speak further. The direct approach it will be then.

“I miss your company,” Thor says honestly. “I had thought us closer than we have been for many years, but suddenly you no longer seem to have time for me.” As he speaks, he realises he sounds a little petulant, and hastily continues. “If I have offended you, I am sorry. If my company is tiresome, please tell me what I can do to earn your favour. If there is anything I can do for you, or with you, or – or if I -”

“Thor,” Loki interrupts sharply, pulling away from Thor to look him in the face. “If you say ‘I’ one more time I have every intention of leaving you here and never speaking to you again.”

Thor very nearly says ‘I am sorry’, but manages to shut his mouth before the offending word escapes. He casts his mind about wildly, trying to work out what Loki wants him to say, what Loki might be thinking – and that is the answer, so simple, so obvious.

“What is in your mind?” he asks and then holds his tongue. A smile flickers briefly across Loki’s face and Thor exalts quietly to himself: he can do this, he can play this game and win.

“You are quite right, brother,” Loki says magnanimously. “I have been busy, and I have not had a chance to spend much time with you. But it is in my mind to spend a day with you tomorrow.”

Thor nods enthusiastically, his heart lifting. His gamble has paid off. “I thought we might spend the afternoon fishing,” Loki continues, his face a placid mask, “after we pay a brief visit to The Hidden Pearl again.”

The brothel? _Again_? And then an afternoon of _fishing_? Thor hates fishing, as he simply does not have the patience for it; why bother sitting on a boat or riverbank waiting for a fish to bite when you could be swimming or racing or doing something interesting? Besides, the last time he went fishing it had been at Hymirheim and _that_ had been a complete disaster.

But Loki is watching him with bright eyes and Thor cannot decide if his brother is being playful or testing Thor’s resolve. Better to err on the side of caution, rather than risk Loki’s wrath, Thor thinks, trying to keep his dismay hidden.

“That sounds…wonderful,” Thor lies, and is rewarded with another flickering smile.

“Wonderful? I had thought you disenchanted with the Pearl,” Loki says, swirling his feet in the water so that tiny waves run up and down the water’s surface. “Are you sure you are willing to return?”

“I would be at your side,” Thor says carefully, “wherever you chose to go.” This is definitely the correct answer, for it is met with a true smile, and Loki settles back at his side, his head a warm weight on Thor’s shoulder.

“I will make all the arrangements,” Loki murmurs, his breath hot even on Thor’s damp skin. “Meet me at the Bifrost after breakfast and we shall venture out together.”

This counts as a victory, Thor decides, his head and his heart full of the pleasure of Loki’s presence. True, an afternoon of fishing is not what he would choose, but a day with Loki has his skin prickling with anticipation, and while he certainly has no desire to return to the damned brothel, it is what brought Loki closer to him in the beginning, and if nothing else, it is the one place where he can speak his mind, where he can admit his love for Loki without being shamed for it.

Thor waits eagerly at the Bifrost the next morning, feeling more cheerful than he has for days. If Heimdall has any thoughts on Thor’s fidgeting he keeps them to himself as Thor paces back and forth in front of the impassive gatekeeper, his mind full of what the day will bring. It will be hard, so hard to be so close to his brother without betraying himself, but this is where the visit back to the Pearl will prove a benefit, for he can indulge in a quick fuck that should keep his body under control for the rest of the afternoon.

Loki arrives with only a small pack and no fishing equipment to be seen. “We shall collect our supplies in Vanaheim,” he says when asked, and as Thor cares little for the whys and wherefores of Loki’s planning he does not press him, but instead throws a companionable arm around his brother’s shoulders as they prepare to travel.

After they have moored the boat, Loki slips effortlessly into his Hveðrungr skin and Thor waits patiently as Loki applies yet another glamour to him. It takes much longer today than it has before, Loki frowning in concentration, and Thor’s cheeks tingle under his hands.

“There,” he says at last, and reaches into his pack to pull out a handmirror. Thor takes it, curious, and looks at himself. Loki has outdone himself, for the face that looks back at him is nothing like own. He looks a little like Heimdall, but dark-eyed and with sharper features. He is clean-shaven and short-haired, and when he reaches up to touch he feels smooth skin and when he tries to grasp at where the ends of his shoulder-length hair should be he feels nothing but air. It is disorientating and he cannot seem to stop staring at himself, tracing the outline of his new face in awe while Loki watches, smug and satisfied.

“Loki, this is…incredible,” he says after a few moments, and he means it. “Is this what you have been learning all this time?”

“Yes,” Loki says proudly, and reaches up to run his own long fingers over Thor’s face, stroking the length of his nose, the edge of his jaw. “I have perfected the technique on myself, but this is the first time I have cast it on another. Not a bad trick, I think.”

“This is not a trick,” Thor says, still fascinated by how real the illusion feels. “This is a true art, a great skill.”

“I am glad you agree,” Loki says, letting his hands drop. “But I have one more thing to try at the Pearl, so let us go.”

Loki disappears almost as soon as they enter, with a promise that he will be with Thor again in a short time. The madam greets Thor with even more effusive courtesy that dims noticeably when Thor asks for the cheapest service available. He is indifferent to her overt scorn; what is the purpose of paying for an excellent illusion when all he is after is a quick fuck, just to take the edge off his fruitless lust for Loki?

“Elska will be with you shortly,” the serving girl tells him as she shows him to a room distinctly smaller than the one he was in last time. “Would you like me to give her any specific instructions?”

“Only that I have little time and would be done quickly,” Thor says and this time the girl is much less impassive as she leaves, clearly affronted by Thor’s boorishness. He feels a little guilty at being, yet again, ruder than he has cause to be, but he is only speaking the truth, for he all he wants is to tumble the girl as quickly as he can so he might return to the company of his brother.

A moment later, the door opens and the half-elf performer walks in.

“Ah,” Thor says awkwardly, “I think you have the wrong room.” The courtesan smiles at him and shakes his head. “I am sorry but I have not – requested you,” Thor continues, for he has not paid for this service and, remembering the last time, he certainly does not want it.

But the man just keeps smiling and as he moves towards Thor he ripples into the likeness of Loki and – and it is _Loki_ , every detail perfect, even down to the way he moves. Thor’s mouth falls open in shock, for he does not understand how the performer’s glamour can have improved so much, and yet as the man stands before him he can see that it has, for it is just as if his brother were here with him.

The man puts his hands on his shoulders and bends down, his dark hair falling forward as his lips brush lightly over Thor’s, with not quite enough pressure to be called a kiss. Thor trembles as he tries to think with every fibre of his being screaming for him to touch and taste the perfect replica in front of him. This is what he imagined when he last came here, but it had only made things worse; will this be the same - should he walk away now…?

The courtesan pulls back a little and quirks his eyebrows at Thor with the same mischievous smile that Loki always uses just before he proposes his wildest, most disastrous and most glorious schemes and Thor cannot think, does not want to think, but can only take the gift that is being offered to him.

“Loki,” he gasps and reaches out like a drowning man. Loki’s smile turns feral and he lunges forward, throwing his weight against Thor as they fall backwards onto the bed, Loki covering Thor’s body with his own as their lips meet. Thor groans in the back of his throat as they kiss, grasping the back of Loki’s neck with one hand as Loki’s tongue snakes its way into his mouth. It is hot and dirty and incredibly good, and Thor cannot stop his hips bucking up, his cock straining at his trousers already. Loki soon slips a clever hand between them, gripping the head of Thor’s cock through the soft fabric, letting Thor push up into his palm as a promise of what is to come.

“Loki,” he says again when they finally part, gasping for air, “Loki, oh, brother,” and the words he has been so desperate to say tumble out of him, filling the small space between their bodies. “I have wanted you so much, Loki, I – I have thought of nothing else, I – I -” he breaks off as Loki nips at his throat, a sharp pain and then a wet tongue, “oh – oh, you – you are so beautiful, brother, I want – I want -”

He shudders, embarrassingly close to coming already, just from the sight and feel of Loki against him. Loki raises himself up a little, his eyes raking Thor’s face and Thor clutches at him harder, pulling his face back down so they are only inches apart.

“Loki, I love you,” he says desperately, acutely aware that they haven’t even managed to get their clothes off yet and he has little time. There is so much to say and this may well be his only chance to say it. “I want to fuck you, brother, so badly, and I – I even want you to fuck me,” he gasps and it feels wonderful to say it, to see the sudden shock on Loki’s face turn to lust, his pupils huge and dark.

“Thor,” Loki snarls and it is perfect, it is exactly Loki’s voice and –

\- his entire body convulses as an icy wave crashes over him, a sudden sensation of freezing water that can only be his glamour breaking, shattering, and that means – that means –

Thor is frozen in horror as he stares up at Loki, who _is_ Loki, who _is his brother_ , who has Thor’s swollen cock in his hand, whose lips are still wet and shining from where Thor has kissed them and it is impossible, just impossible.

Thor tries to push Loki away in panic but Loki is having none of it, and they end up rolling around on the bed, Loki’s one hand holding onto Thor’s shirt for dear life and the other _still holding his cock_ and damn it, his brother is a dirty fighter and twists his grip painfully until Thor rolls onto his back and holds still.

“Dearest, darling, foolish Thor,” Loki says, smiling cruelly. “You still don’t understand, do you?” Thor stares at him, mind racing. No, he does not understand. Loki leans closer, his breath ghosting across Thor’s panic-stricken face. “I know, Thor. I know exactly what you want.”

Thor bucks frantically, escape his only thought. But after a few moments of fruitless thrashing he has to subside; he doesn’t dare bring his full strength to bear with Loki’s nails pricking his most tender area even through the fabric of his trousers. They both pant as they stare at each other and Thor has absolutely no idea what to say or what to do. This is dreadful, this is his worst nightmare come true, for now Loki knows, Loki heard everything he said, and he is exposed and utterly ruined.

 “Thor,” Loki says mockingly, “for once, brother mine, try to think before you act.” And he takes Thor’s hand and presses it to his crotch where – where Thor can feel Loki’s own erection straining against his trousers. Oh, he thinks, blinking in surprise, _oh_. Joy bubbles up within him, a wild, searing pleasure at the thought that Loki desires him, that he is not alone, that Loki shares his secret darkness and so they will – they will -

He cannot resist running his hand up and down the length of Loki’s erection, exploring the feel of it. Loki makes a low sound of pleasure and Thor snatches his hand back, suddenly horribly aware of what he is doing. _He is stroking his younger brother’s cock_ ; if anyone were to find out – his friends, his parents, please no – he, they would be despised, hated, perhaps even banished. He must be strong, he must resist.

“Loki - we can’t – we mustn’t - brother, no, this is forbidden,” Thor pleads, for it is one thing to burn with desire for his brother and quite another to allow it to consume him, even if Loki himself is more than willing. It is unnatural – and wrong – and he is Loki’s older brother, he must be responsible and do what is right and – and Loki’s hand closes around his cock again, gently stroking, and he cannot, _cannot_ stop himself moaning at the touch. How is he supposed to resist being given his heart’s desire?

“We are the princes of Asgard,” Loki says fiercely. “We can do anything we want, for who would dare to stop us?” He leans forward, closing his eyes as his forehead rests against Thor’s. “And this is what I want to do.”

“This is madness,” Thor whispers, half-terrified and half in awe of Loki’s determination.

“Is it?” Loki replies softly, almost to himself. “And what if it is?”

“Loki -” Thor says, for there is so much that they should say to each other, but Loki presses his mouth to Thor’s and his words die in his mouth, overwhelmed by the taste and feel of his brother’s lips against his. He knows this is wrong, knows that they should stop, that this will be a watershed for them, something that can never be undone, and there is too much yet unsaid.

But oh, it is everything he wants and it is so hard to remember why he should stop when Loki starts pulling at their clothes, tugging off tunics and trousers until they are both naked and panting.

“Loki,” Thor tries again, but Loki’s patience has clearly reached an end.

“No,” he snarls, straddling Thor with one hand splayed on his chest and the other tight in Thor’s hair. “You will not deny me now, brother. I have waited too long for this. You will give me what I want, Thor, and for once you will _do as I say_.”

Thor looks up at his beautiful, feral brother and his mouth goes dry. He nods, helplessly, for this is what he wanted, in the darkest corners of his heart: for Loki to make this decision for him, to take the burden of responsibility and the fear of coercing his younger, slighter brother into something unwanted away from him. Loki watches him carefully and Thor holds his tongue, content, for once, to wait for Loki’s counsel.

“Good,” Loki says roughly and stretches himself back out on top of Thor. It is better, it is so much better without their clothes and Loki makes a soft, surprised ‘oh’ when their cocks brush against each other. Thor groans, digging his own hands into the soft flesh of Loki’s buttocks, making Loki laugh a little, breathily, and then they are rocking together, Loki’s legs entwined with his and his hands clenched tightly around Thor’s biceps.

Loki is smiling again, and desire rises in Thor like a tide, washing away all thoughts of right and wrong with the simpler demands of need and want. He cannot seem to stop kissing Loki, pressing wet, sloppy kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his neck. Loki lets him, his eyes bright with lust and, Thor thinks wonderingly, what is surely affection. Abruptly, Loki sits up and without thinking Thor follows, chasing the warmth of his body.

“You will prepare me now,” he orders, but the mischievous grin tugging at his mouth reveals there is no anger in him anymore, only desire.

“Yes,” Thor says, voice rough, and rolls off the bed to find a suitable lubricant. There is a bewildering variety of choice in the pots on the shelf, and he hesitates a moment.

“Blue bowl, white birds, third from the left,” Loki instructs, laughing yet again, and Thor has never been happier to be the cause of his brother’s merriment. He grabs the bowl and returns to Loki, who has stretched himself out on the bed unselfconsciously. It is wonderful to be able to look his fill and so Thor does at length, reaching out to skim his hands lightly over Loki’s pale skin.

“Now, Thor,” Loki says at last, spreading his legs invitingly. Thor cannot possibly disobey and so he settles between Loki’s legs, scooping a generous amount of what proves to be more oil than salve and coating his fingers with it. He circles the rim of Loki’s hole gently before pushing just one finger in. Loki takes it easily and so Thor adds another, working slowly and gently to open him up, fascinated by the sight of his own blunt fingers disappearing into his brother. Loki is breathing hard but when Thor glances up his head is tipped back, face slack with pleasure and Thor’s cock jumps at the picture of decadence he makes.

Loki’s own cock is still hard, flushed a deep red and slick with precome where it rests against his abdomen. Now he has seen it Thor cannot take his eyes off it, a new idea sparking in his mind. Loki has not asked it of him, but Thor wants to give him something unexpected, something he has never given to another man. He leans forward and grasps the base with his free hand. Loki half opens his eyes, gasping as Thor crooks his fingers inside him. Thor gives Loki’s cock one firm stroke before angling it upward and then, without warning, he shifts his weight so he can take it into his mouth.

“Thor!” Loki all but shrieks, body convulsing as Thor swallows him as far as he can. The feel and the taste is new but not unpleasant, and the sensation of Loki shuddering and the way his hands are suddenly clenched tight in Thor’s hair is most pleasing. Thor bobs his head as best he can, concentrating on lathing the head with his tongue, one hand still grasping the base to keep it in place. It is a little awkward, trying to keep moving his fingers inside Loki while working his mouth around his cock, but the sheer volume of the sounds coming from his brother is a good indication that he is doing well so far.

“Thor – Thor, wait – Thor, stop!”  Loki chokes out at last and Thor obeys, reluctantly letting Loki’s cock slip out of his mouth with a wet pop and stilling his fingers. Loki has his eyes screwed tight, the muscles in his thighs visibly trembling and Thor realises he is close to coming. It is a heady thought and makes him suddenly aware of the heavy ache in his own neglected cock.

“You will fuck me now,” Loki says once he has control of himself again, opening his eyes to fix his gaze on Thor, still crouching between his legs. “I want to come with you inside me.”

“Yes,” Thor hisses and moves to align himself with Loki, for surely his brother is wet and open enough that he can slide straight in, but Loki twists away, slipping out of his grasp with ease.

“On your back,” Loki demands as Thor reaches for him. “I will ride you.”

That is an excellent idea, a most excellent idea indeed and Thor scrambles up the bed and into position so Loki can straddle him again. Loki teases him lightly, letting the head of Thor’s cock bump along the crease of his ass as he rubs more oil into it until Thor is half-mad with impatience.

“Loki _, please_ ,” he begs and it seems that that is what his cruel brother has been waiting for, for at last he positions himself properly above Thor and sinks slowly down onto his cock. Thor can hear the bedsheets tearing as he fists his hands in them to hold himself still. He waits, muscles trembling, until Loki is fully seated, his heavy balls brushing Thor’s abdomen. Loki pants, head lolling forward and Thor wants to move so badly it almost hurts but he makes himself wait, holding still until Loki gives the word.

“Oh, Thor,” Loki murmurs, meeting Thor’s gaze at last, and then he moves, lifting himself up until only the head of Thor’s cock remains within him and then dropping back down, connecting with Thor’s body with a distinct thump. Thor makes a strangled sound and cannot stop his hips bucking up as Loki finds a rhythm he likes. Thor cannot take his eyes off Loki, off the flush staining his chest, of the long line of his throat as he throws his head back, at how beautiful his brother is as he fucks himself down onto Thor. His cock bobs, still shining with Thor’s saliva, and Thor reaches for it with one hand, settling the other on Loki’s slim hip.

“Brother,” he whispers, reverently, and Loki moans as he begins to stroke. Loki lets his weight rest on Thor and begins to grind his hips, working Thor even deeper inside him. It is good, it is so so good, but Thor wants to see Loki come, wants hear him scream his name and watch him fall apart and so he strokes faster and faster, gritting his teeth against his own rising pleasure as Loki matches his pace.

“Thor,” Loki pants, and he is close, must be close. “Thor!” he says, again, louder, hips jerking, pupils huge as he stares into Thor’s eyes.

“Yes,” Thor says, nonsensically, “please, Loki, come on, I want to see you, brother, please -” and with that Loki is coming, his body clenching almost painfully tightly around Thor, his come splattering over Thor’s chest as he screams Thor’s name and all of Thor’s thoughts and plans crumble away and he surges up, Loki balanced precariously on his lap and fucks upward, as hard and as fast as he can, unable to do anything but push forward into that clinging heat. He is dimly aware of Loki’s arms settling around his neck, of filthy words of praise and promise being whispered into his ear but most of all he is aware of the rising tide of his orgasm, of his balls tightening and he thrusts erratically, once, twice – and he is undone, pouring himself into Loki with a shout before collapsing backwards, pulling his unresisting brother with him.

He is floating in a hazy bliss when he feels himself slipping from Loki. He opens his eyes and Loki is curled against him, seemingly indifferent to the slippery mess they have created. Thor kisses him again, hard, just because he can. Loki is warm and pliant in his arms and he lets himself drift, marvelling at what they have just done until he recalls Loki’s earlier words.

“Loki?” he asks, looking down at his brother. “How long?”

“How long what?” Loki replies, idly toying with the ends of Thor’s hair.

“How long have you…been waiting? How long have you felt this way?”

“Oh, always, I suppose,” Loki says airily, making a sort of brush with a clump of Thor’s hair and pretending to dust his cheek with it.

“Always?” Thor repeats, pulling away slightly so he can see Loki’s face properly. “What do you mean, always?”

“I mean that I have desired you for as long as I can remember,” Loki says sharply, sudden anger clouding his features. “Not all of us get what we want as quickly as you, Thor.”

Always? Thor thinks back to the days of their youth, to Loki playing and fighting with him, his closest confidante and most trusted friend. Until they became men and Loki began to pull away, to prefer his studies to Thor’s sparring, becoming colder and sharper, less likely to accept a friendly hug, always ready with a jibe or insult when Thor or his friends teased him about his strange ways. Was this the cause of it? Thor has only struggled with this terrible secret for a few days, but now he can see how the weight of it had changed him, twisting and shaping him with its immensity, making of him a shadow and a liar.

Thor looks at Loki and sees the anger and despair bubbling within him. He thinks on how that anger might have pushed and pulled his brother along strange paths, at how the ebb and flow of this forbidden desire had already created a rift between them and might, in time, have tested the bonds of their brotherhood to breaking point. He does not know what he might have done, in his hopeless unhappiness, if Loki had not found this safe harbour for them. He does not want to think on the darkness that might have swallowed them if Thor had not discovered this hidden side of himself.

“I am sorry for the wrongs I have done you in my ignorance,” he says at last, and it is amazing how these simple words soothe away the anger from his prickly brother. “And I am grateful,” he says, trying to find the words to make Loki understand. “I thank you, for your courage when I had none, and for bringing us to - this.”  He cups Loki’s face in his hand, gently. “I love you, brother. Now more than ever.”

There is a light of triumph in Loki’s eyes but Thor does not question him on it, for he has spoken the truth. He is not so foolish that he cannot see Loki’s hand in the path that led him here, but it is where he wants to be, so he sees no purpose in dwelling on it further.

“I am yours,” he says softly.

“You are mine,” his brother says, his smile as sharp and wicked as the knives he throws, as sweet and true as Idunn’s apples.

And Thor kisses him again, his heart calm and full, for if this is Loki’s victory then it is Thor’s too, for he has Loki in his bed and at his side, and there is nothing more he wants than for them to sail this uncharted sea together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norse notes: The fishing trip is a little myth in-joke: there are a few versions of Hymiskviða, but basically Thor and a giant called Hymir go fishing; Thor accidentally catches Jormungandr the world-serpent, Hymir panics and cuts it loose and Thor throws him overboard in a fit of pique. 'Elska' means 'affection'; it seemed appropriate.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting this last chapter up, I've been on a historical tour of Northumbria which was great but exhausting. Thank you so much for reading this fic and I would appreciate any and all feedback, as it's my first Thor/Loki piece and first multi-chapter fic ever. I had great fun writing this and hope you enjoyed it too!


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